


Vampire Week

by festivalofpudding (berreh)



Category: Rhett & Link
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Ficlet Collection, M/M, One Word Prompts, Tumblr Prompt, Vampire Week
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-20
Updated: 2017-10-20
Packaged: 2019-01-19 20:09:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 1,853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12417252
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/berreh/pseuds/festivalofpudding
Summary: Four unconnected ficlets written for@scarystoriestotellintherhink's Vampire Week





	1. The Cure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> inspired by GMM 1202 (poor Rhett!)

Link didn’t hear him come in — he never did. He felt a sudden shiver down his spine, an intangible chill in the air, and he just knew. Link looked up and there he was: crouched on his haunches on the windowsill overhead, the updraft ruffling his golden hair as he peered down at Link from the shadows.

“You know why I have come.”

“I do,” Link said.

The vampire jumped to the floor, as silent as a cat, and approached without a sound. Link swallowed, feeling the hairs rise on the back of his neck. He backed up a step, then another, until he bumped into the table and could go no further.

“Please — just one more night,” he stammered. “I need time—”

“Time?!”

Snarling, the vampire lunged forward at inhuman speed, seized Link by the shirt, and lifted him until his sneakers dangled above the linoleum.

“I am tired of waiting! You said it would be tonight! Were you lying to me?”

“No! I’m ready! I just—”

“You said you could fix this! You said you could help me!”

“I can! I will! You just have to be patient—”

“ _Patient?!_ Do you know how many years I have been patient? Do you have any idea what it is like to live like this? Every moment disgusted, repulsed… You said you could end this! I should have known better than to trust a human!”

“Fine!” Link cried. “Fine. Here. Take it. It might not work. Just take it.”

He held out a beaker filled with something dark and thick.

The vampire snatched it from his trembling fingers, sniffed it, then quaffed the contents in a single greedy slurp. He licked his lips, catching a stray drop before it could stain his beard. He glared up at Link from beneath his brows, and dragged the point of one fang across his lower lip before he spoke.

“I like it.”

His silver-gold eyes grew large as he suddenly smiled. He stared at the empty blood-stained beaker and the single line scribbled in black Sharpie: _Flavor Test #352_.

“I like it! I cannot taste the blood at all! Doctor, you have saved me! What is the name of this flavoring?”

“Barbecue,” Link said.


	2. Amaranthine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for @rhinkipoo's prompt: "snowfall"

The battle was over. The victors had moved on, the vanquished fled or been taken; all that remained were the dead. They lay where they fell, still clutching their weapons, their enemies, their dogs, their own entrails. What had once been a pure winter meadow was now a barren morass of death – bare earth trampled and torn, soaked with blood and bile, littered with blades and bodies. Stiff featureless shapes, puddles of rust-colored frost, all slowly disappearing beneath fresh morning snowfall.

A shape moved through the mist: tall, slender, nearly as white as the snow, with hair as black as the torn earth spilling down its naked back. Its bare feet moved without a sound, leaving no footprints behind. It sniffed the frigid air – strained to listen – licked its lips – and then smiled. There. Among all this carrion, a single beating heart. The scent reached him then: warm blood, living blood, but cooling, sluggish, fading. And he thought he would eat nothing tonight.

He was bigger than the others – lying on his side, curled in around himself, but otherwise indistinguishable from the carcasses of his compatriots: no shivering, no writhing, no visible breath. The snow obscured his crude animal-skin garments, his mottled frost-burned flesh, his ghastly mortal wounds. But somehow he was still alive. Within that ravaged body a few mouthfuls of blood still flowed.

He crouched over the fallen warrior and pulled him onto his back. Blood and ice stained a golden beard, but the face beneath was… he tilted his head, blue eyes blinking in wonder. He stared so long at the beautiful face beneath the filth that he nearly forgot his hunger. This one was different. This one was… special. 

Long eyelashes fluttered and opened – eyes the color of jasper, unfocused, blinking, dying. He touched the frozen face, felt the waning warmth stir beneath palm. 

“Do you want to live?” he said.

The sound of his voice made those eyes go round and frightened. Delirium turned to awareness, and then recognition – panic – terror – repulsion… and then a flash of defiance, a wordless acceptance, the spark of a life worth more than a barbarian’s death.

“I don’t want to die.”

He lifted the limp body into his arms as easily as a doll. The scent of blood hit him and he closed his eyes, savoring it until his mouth began to water. He felt weak hands clutching at him, pulling him closer, and he gripped a handful of matted blond hair and smiled.

“Then live with me,” he said, and drove his fangs into the naked throat.


	3. The Hunger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> @mythosethan's prompt: the song "Bela Lugosi's Dead"

It’s a myth that vampires cast no reflection. That was true back in the old days, when most mirrors were made of polished silver, but in the age of glass and neon they can primp and preen and stare at themselves with the rest of us. Here are two of them now, in fact — as you can see, both are clearly visible in the dingy light from the blue fluorescents buzzing over the bathroom sinks. But they’re not looking at themselves. They’re looking at each other. They always do.

The tall one — the one in the torn black thermal shirt, with the wavy blond hair, see him? — his eyes are focused on watching the black-haired one: how the muscles in his shoulders move beneath his thin black t-shirt as he leans in and bends his head; how the rings on his fingers glitter when his hand tightens its grip; how his blue eyes flash silver and white as his mouth works on the throat bared between them. Occupied as he is, though, he never takes his eyes from the tall one: how his arms flex and strain beneath black mesh as they hold the trembling body still between them; how his hair falls over his forehead when he bends down to smell her; how his tongue creeps out to lick a dark rivulet running down the breast peeking from the open shirt. He takes the nipple in his mouth and she moans, or tries to, but the hand on her throat squeezes it to a strangled squeak. Her hips buck on the counter top, squirming against the long thigh pressed between her legs, and her hand closes in wavy blond hair as her orgasm sends the blood spurting too fast to swallow. 

They look at each other in the smeared, cracked mirror. There’s just enough room to hold her steady when she goes limp, one large hand cradling her head, another one reaching out to close in thin black cotton and pull their bodies together above her. They kiss beneath the crackling fluorescent light.  When they part, their blood-smeared mouths are both smiling. 

“Forever and ever,” one of them says. Does it matter which one?


	4. Dying of the Light

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt from anon: 'flashlight'

Rhett had to crouch nearly double to fit through the tiny archway; cobwebs snagged on his beard and hair when he straightened and he made a noise of disgust, batting at his face with his free hand. Something squeaked and ran off on skittering paws, and up ahead he heard Chase swear beneath his breath. In a few moments his eyes adjusted to the gloom and he raised his flashlight just as Chase held the lantern aloft.

“This is it. He’s here.”

“Rhett — over there. Look.”

In the far corner, past a barrier of disintegrating crates and moldering rope and iron candelabras covered in cobwebs, was a single stone sarcophagus. It lacked ornament or decoration of any kind, and yet somehow they both knew. This was the place. They had finally found him. Rhett glanced up at the single clerestory window, where the setting sun cast its last rays in dusty gold bar slanting to the floor. The light was already fading as he watched. Not much time now. 

Carefully Rhett set his flashlight on a crate, pointed at the coffin. He reached into his coat and withdrew his tools: a wooden mallet and a large wooden stake.

“Open it,” he said.

Together they crept to the coffin as silently as possible. Chase fingered the silver crucifix around his throat and tried to keep the lantern from trembling as he set it down. He moved behind the stone box and got into position. Their eyes met: once Rhett gave the signal, there could be no turning back. Licking his lips, Rhett nodded.

Chase hefted the lid with both hands, groaning with effort, and flipped it onto the floor. The sound was deafening, and a cloud of dust and cobwebs blew in Rhett’s face. It cleared and he leaned forward to peer inside the coffin.

Could this really the monster they had sought for so long? He looked so…young. Only a trace of silver dusted his hair, and his face still had a boyish curve in the cheeks, though the skin was ghastly pale and the eyes ringed with dark circles. He might even have been handsome if…. but his chest did not move and his flesh was bloodless, even the lips, still and sallow like cold wax. Rhett knew what that color meant. He needed blood.

“Hurry,” Chase whispered.

Rhett leaned over the vampire and placed the stake’s point just above the folded hands, directly over the heart. His hand flexed on the mallet handle and he raised it to drive the stake home. Beneath his breath he began whispering the Prayer of the Dead.

Nothing moved except the eyes. They snapped open, wide and black-lashed, silvery blue, bloodshot, glittering in the dark. Rhett gasped. His words stumbled and stopped. The mallet trembled in his hand.

“Rhett, no!” Chase cried. “Don’t look at him! Rhett—”

But it was too late. Rhett’s eyes had grown round, blinking down at the demon-blue eyes gazing back up at him. His lips parted, and a soft breath escaped him. Chase grabbed him by the arm and shook him violently. 

“Rhett! Rhett, he’s got you! Snap out of it! We’ve got to—”

The last ray of sunlight faded and disappeared. The window turned black and empty. The vampire smiled.

“Rhett!” Chase screamed.

He pulled and shoved, but Rhett’s feet were rooted to the stone floor. He was too large to be carried and too tall for Chase to cold-cock him with the lantern and drag him out. All he could do now was save himself. Tears cut through the dust on his face as he clutched the crucifix around his neck. Too late… too late. With a final whisper of Rhett’s name he turned and fled.

Rhett tilted his head, blinking down at the coffin. Slowly he knelt on the floor, and then he lay the stake and mallet aside so he could lean over and peer into the waxen face smiling back at him. A pale hand slithered up and touched his face, a sharp thumbnail stroking his beard. Cold lips parted, fangs glinting in the glow from Rhett’s flashlight.

“Hello, beautiful.”


End file.
